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“I can overnight you some of the other material we were able to dig up,” the attorney said. “But I want no part of this. As far as I’m concerned, the seal stands. I will, however, give you some advice. Once you go down the rabbit hole into Frances’s world, it’s complicated, almost overwhelming. I suggest you find someone to guide you.”
“Smart. But a whistleblower on the inside might be hard to come by.”
Jessup said, “Then find one on the outside. Someone who knows how Frances and Watkins work. Even better, someone who holds a grudge. Or two. Or three.”
Bree thought about that and smiled. “That’s a really good idea.”
“I have them now and then,” Jessup said. “And you should know one more thing about this entire affair. Perhaps the most troubling aspect of all.”
CHAPTER 39
Walpole, Massachusetts
IT WAS ALMOST THREE P.M.when I left the prison, feeling more confused than I had when I’d entered it. After Herman Foster asserted his innocence, he grew irritable and increasingly unresponsive to my questions about the case.
About the only thing I could pin him down on was his beliefs about Thomas Tull.
“Thomas is a tough, fair guy with a cop’s mind and a penchant for self-promotion,” Foster said. “But he’s no killer. I’d trust that man with my life.”
“Looks like you already have,” I said, which pretty much ended the conversation.
Vic Daloia was waiting by his car in the prison parking lot, drinking his fourth or fifth cup of Dunkin’ coffee. “That was fast. You talk to him?”
“For a bit, then he went quiet on me,” I said, climbing into the back seat.
Daloia got behind the wheel, started the car, and pulled out. “He give you anything good, Doc? Anything new?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out.”
“Tull would have known if he said anything new.”
Even though that annoyed me, I knew the Uber driver was right. “I should have brought Tull with me, I guess.”
Daloia laughed. “Maybe next time, huh? Meantime, where to?”
“Head toward Boston,” I said, picking up my phone and looking in my notes for a 617 area code number. I found it and called.
“Boston Homicide,” a man growled.
“I’m looking for Detective Jane Hale.”
“Good luck—she’s on her honeymoon in Australia. Be back in three weeks.”
Before I could say anything, the line went dead.
In the front seat, Daloia said, “No go on Hale? She would have been good. But you would probably have needed Tull there too.”
“Right again,” I said. “So I think I’m done here. Take me to Logan, please.”
“Really?” the driver said, sounding disappointed. “Nowhere else?”
“Just the airport,” I said. “I’m going to catch a late flight to Charleston.”
Daloia waved one finger in the air as we pulled onto Route 128 heading north. “Doctor’s Orders,am I right?”
“Can’t get a thing past you, Vic,” I said.
He shrugged and smiled. “Another crazy case courtesy of Thomas T., but you know I Googled you while you were inwith Foster. You’re no slouch yourself, Doc. Very impressive. And you’re on those Family Man murders, so I figure that’s why Tull’s down in DC and why you’re up here checking on him. Right?”
